It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom
by jharad17
Summary: AU Alt T.line, BtVSHP crossover, wherein too many former residents of Sunnydale visit Hogwarts due to rumors of a new Dark Power rising. Hijinx ensue, and together, They Fight Evil! dun dun duh Warn: Silliness, Slash SSRG,LMWtB,RLDO,HPWtB,et al.
1. Chapter 1

**It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom -- Chapter One**

**By jharad17**

**Summary: **Alternate Universe, Alternate Timeline BtVS/HP crossover, wherein too many former residents of Sunnydale visit Hogwarts and hijinx ensue, while together, They Fight Evil (dun dun duh).

**Disclaimer:** Are you kidding me?

**Author's Note:** From the warped mind that brought you _Walk of Shadows_ and _Whelp II -- The Wrath of Snape_ comes this . . . oddment where slash happens and timelines are skewed and a Vampire with a soul _is not either_ lame. Go forth and read, if you dare. . . .

* * *

In a small cottage in the compound of the Gaia Coven in southern England, Rupert Giles sat in a lounger with a glass of brandy near to hand, and poured over one of the last books sent to him from Los Angeles before it went tits up in a Final Battle. One of many Final Battles, as it turns out, over his last decade of being a Watcher. The book, called _Hogwarts: A History_ by Bathilda Bagshot, seemed to cover an entire millennium or so, from the founding through the end of the last century, of a school of magic located somewhere in Scotland. A School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to be precise.

The premise was, in a word, fascinating. The very concept pre-supposed the existence of a hidden world of magic wielders, living in and among the rest of the humans race -- called the Muggle world -- with varying degrees of equanimity. The school taught these young wizards and witches spells and Potions and Herbology and a sport called Quidditch, in a castle that was completely invisible to the Muggles. It was obviously a fairytale of some kind . . . except that Bathilda had once been a member of the Gaia Coven, and was never given to flights of fancy nor the writing of children's tales.

Giles could not ignore the implications. Especially not now, with rumors of Dark Magic -- powerful enough to rival the former Dark Willow -- rising in Britain and across the continent, under the aegis of a creature called the Dark Lord or, even more worrisome and melodramatic, He Who Must Not Be Named. In his experience, those who should not be named were most often in need of being strategically put down for the betterment of the rest of civilization. Or leashing, at the very least.

"Whatcha got there?"

Giles removed his glasses and pinched his nose briefly before he peered at the redhead who had entered his cottage without knocking. Of course, she was a special case, and not entirely because she could hex him into next month without blinking. He replaced his glasses and sighed. "An answer, I believe."

Willow frowned a little, curious as usual. It was one of her best things; one of her most dangerous, too. "To what?"

"To where the next Hellmouth opened up. And to where we might find reinforcements, to help repel this new evil."

"Dun dun duh," Willow sang softly, amused. She leaned over his chair and flipped up one side of the red covered book, taking in the large crest on the front marked with a stylized H. Standing straight again, she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Hogwarts?"

"Yes. Have you ever been to Scotland?"

"Nope. Non-travelly me, well, except for visiting here, of course. Are we going? Should I call Buffy?"

Giles shook his head. "You and I might be the only ones who could go in. Apparently, only those who can use magic can even see the castle."

"Serious magic right there."

"Indeed."

Willow gave him a shy smile. "I could work up a spell to counter it, though. For a select group."

Considering the idea, Giles thought about what they might face. A school full of angsty, magic wielding teenagers . . . like Sunnydale High with hundreds of Willows . . . half of them with more testosterone than brains. "I think it would be better to keep it to just the two of us," he said finally, shuddering at the very idea of Buffy or Angel or, _god forbid_, Spike, even with a soul, let loose among all that teen spirit.

"Sure. No problem."

* * *

Two evenings later, just after moonrise, at the gates of Hogwarts, Giles glowered at Willow, wondering what part of his decision had been so hard to grasp. When Willow smiled sweetly back at him with a helpless shrug, he turned his glare on the rest of the group.

Spike had his leather coat cinched, hands jammed in the pockets, as he slouched against the wall, his bleached hair lying damply on his skull in the ubiquitous Scottish mist. As far away from the blond as he could get without leaving the county, Angel had a brood on, arms crossed over his chest and scowling at everything, while Buffy, complete with ponytail, crackling gum, and sardonic smile, rested her hands on the gate as she peered up at the castle.

She glanced at Giles. "So, what are we doing here again?"

"Looking for evidence of evil," Giles explained, again, with a huff of annoyance. Really, was it so hard for them to _listen_?

"Dun dun duh," Spike intoned with a smirk. He really had become a great deal more irritating ever since he got a soul, and a corporeal body, and no chip. "Where's this evil, then? So I can kick its ass." And even more arrogant, too, if it were possible.

"Shut up, Spike," Angel growled.

"Make me, tall and broody."

Angel stepped forward to do just that, Giles was sure, but stopped when Buffy put a hand on his arm. A smile twitched at the corner of the dark Vampire's lips, matched by one on Spike's, before he rolled his eyes. "So how do we get in, then?"

"Just knock," Willow said. "Umm. . . ." She looked around blankly for a moment, then grabbed the wrought iron gate with the large H in the center, and shook it, rattling the frame.

"Excellent, Red," Spike snarked. "I'm glad we have an expert along."

"Shut up, Spike," said Giles.

"I am getting the distinct impression that I'm not welcome."

"You're not," Angel and Giles said in tandem, and then glared at each other in tandem, too.

"Right! You have your fun with your evil--"

"Dun dun duh," Buffy sang.

"--And I'll just nip off."

"Don't be all run away-ey guy." Buffy gave him a warm look. "We need you, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Spike said, but leant against the wall again, saying nothing more.

"Hey," Willow said, pointing up at the castle. "Someone's coming!"

"Not recently." Spike sighed dramatically.

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy snapped.

The Vampire smirked, but glanced over his shoulder, through the gate, all the same.

A light -- lantern, probably -- bobbed its way down the rather steep hill. The five of them watched avidly as a figure approached and came into view, indeed holding a lantern aloft.

"Is anyone else coming over all Dickens?" Buffy murmured.

"Nah. Dickens was a ponce." Spike grimaced. "Owed me five quid."

"Yeah, you say that about everyone old." Buffy gave him one of her most disarming smiles, making the Vampire blush . . . or turn less pale, at any rate. "One might get the impression you were less than discerning in who you gave money to."

While Giles pondered when Buffy had learnt a word like "discerning" and how to use it in a sentence, Spike scoffed, "One would be wrong."

"One would--"

"Shush, children," Giles hissed as a sallow faced, lank haired man reached the gate.

The man was dressed all in black robes, and his dark eyes were faintly accusing. His thin lips settled in a sneer as he looked them over. "We were not expecting any visitors," the man said softly, in a tone Giles recalled from his days as a school boy, one used by some of his most feared teachers. Even this man's voice held a sneer.

Giles gave him his best Educated Man Seeks Knowledge look, with a jaunty smile. "We would like to see your Headmaster, if you would be so kind."

"Take us to your leader," Buffy said. Under her breath, thank god.

"Indeed?" The man raised one eyebrow. "I'm afraid he's quite occupied at the moment. Unless you bothered to make an appointment?"

"Well, no--" Giles started, about to explain the lack of post address that had thwarted him in doing so, when Spike interrupted. Of course.

"Look, we don't need a sodding appointment."

"Shut up, Spike," Willow said. "Please."

"Unless you lot have to make an appointment to fight Evil!"

"Dun dun duh," Angel murmured.

"Good night." The man turned and started back toward the castle.

"Hey! Sourpuss!" Spike called over all their protests. "Would it help if I asked to speak to my cousin? He goes to school here. Or he was a student a few years back, anyway. Name's Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. He's got a nipper, now, doesn't he? Poncey little whelp, with some nancy name like Gander or Drake or Uno or something."

The dark haired man turned back, eyes narrowed. "You cannot possibly mean Draco."

"That's the one!"

The man's mouth twisted as if around something bitter, and Giles could quite understand. He'd had to put up with this particular thorn for years. For the next few minutes, the man looked them over even more closely, meeting each of their gazes in turn. Giles felt a little . . . push of something on his mind, and recoiled from it immediately, frowning at the intrusion.

"Very well," the man intoned at last, and removed an actual wand from his pocket which he waved at the gate. It clicked open. "I suppose you may enter," he said, as if he were doing them a huge favor.

Giles, very suddenly, wasn't at all so sure that he was.

**TBC . . . **

* * *

**A/N continued:**

This plot bunny occurred to me (and my friend and sometime beta, Miri) on a recent drive of about 20 minutes length, and the endless possibilities it presented kept us in stitches for hours longer. In spite of that, this won't be a terribly _drawn out_ story, less than 10 chapters, I suspect, but I hope it'll be a humorous break from my more angsty pieces. The wonky timeline warning is because the fic takes place after all events of the last seasons of both _Angel_ and _Buffy_ are done, but before the end of Harry Potter's Hogwarts years. Erm, and there's been no HBP or DH. I think that's all my caveats. Yeah.

Let me know if you like it, or even if you don't. I can take it. ;-D


	2. Chapter 2

**It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom -- Chapter Two**

**By jharad17**

**Disclaimer:** Are you kidding me?

---

**Previously, on **_**It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom:**_

_"Very well," the man intoned at last, and removed an actual wand from his pocket which he waved at the gate. It clicked open. "I suppose you may enter," he said, as if he were doing them a huge favor._

_Giles, very suddenly, wasn't at all so sure that he was._

As the group of two vampires with souls, one witch, one unemployed Watcher and the Slayer Prime trudged up the hill after the dour looking man, who had not so much as glanced at them after opening the gate, Buffy muttered, "Okay, he's not at _all_ creepy." She glanced at Angel. "Is he one of you, you know . . ."

Angel's eyes narrowed. "What, a vampire?" He smirked. "No. No way."

"How do you know?" asked Buffy. "I mean, he's got the 'clothes are way out of date' thing, and the 'pale as death' thing, which are two of _my_ primary tells for tracking them in the wild. I'd also put him down for 'broody with a side of growls,' but I don't know if that's good for all vampires or just ones I know."

"Biblically," Spike put in.

Buffy glared at him. "So, is it a pheromone thing?"

"Pheromones?"

"Yeah, like can you tell from the smell?"

Spike raised an eyebrow. "_You_ know what vampires smell like, love."

"I know what _two_ vampires smell like," she corrected hastily.

"Extrapolate."

"Ooh, big words!" Her eyes widened innocently. "Can I play with big words, too?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "He does _not_ smell like a vampire."

"Yeah," Spike agreed with the elder vampire, for perhaps the first time in twenty years. "He's got a minty thing going on for him."

"It's _sage_, you idiot," Giles surprised himself by saying. Crossly. "With a touch of lavender."

Buffy looked at him askance, her eyebrows disappearing under her fringe. "Soooo, not a vampire, then."

Willow smirked. "But I think he's kinda gay."

Spike snorted. "What was your first clue?"

"Children," Giles snapped. "Could we _please_ not discuss the nice man's proclivities just now?"

"Right," Spike said officiously, and pretended to moisten the end of a pen with his tongue, then hold it poised over an imaginary date book. "So I'll pencil the discussion in for around midnight, then?"

"Shut _up_, Spike!"

"Fine, fine," Spike said, showing his palms. "See if I get you invited in next time to see my cos'. What's got your knickers in a twist anyway?"

Giles just growled at him and continued the march up the hill. Bloody soul-in vampires.

Spike rolled his eyes and trudged alongside Buffy, as if she wouldn't be able to make it without him keeping close tabs on her. As usual.

At the top of the hill, they were led up a few stone steps and then through a pair of huge, wooden, reinforced doors into a rather large entrance hall. A sweeping set of marble stairs led up to the second level, and more flights of steps led further and further, and when Giles peered at them more closely, he saw that some of them were _moving_. Magically.

My goodness.

"You will wait here," the dark haired man told them, his tone rather cold. Giles was quite sure the man had heard this bunch of infants making jokes at his expense, and he wanted to apologize, but the look in the man's eyes as he finally turned to them again precluded that possibility. He was pretty sure the wand tightly gripped in the man's pale, narrow hand, was trained directly at Spike . . .

"Thank you," Giles said, and removed his glasses to wipe the Scottish mist from the lenses, with a handkerchief he used only for that purpose. "We appreciate your hospitality," he told the man.

"Indeed," the man intoned, looking even more sour, if possible, as he started toward the stairs. "Do not leave this hall."

"Wouldn't dream of it, love," Spike quipped, and Buffy punched him on the arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Oh, please. Like you don't get off on pain."

Spike laughed, and Giles wanted to vomit. A lot. "You know me too well, pet."

"You got that right."

Spike pouted.

"Are there going to be tears?" Buffy asked brightly.

Spike opened his mouth to say something else stupid, though fortunately their guide – and Giles would have to get his name later, he supposed – had vanished up the stairs and wouldn't have heard him.

But Willow – thank God! – interrupted him before he could embarrass the lot of them any further. "Say, Giles, is it possible for paintings to move?"

"Anything's possible in Magicland!" said Buffy.

"No, really. Look." Willow pointed at a nearby portrait of some children playing in a field of flowers and lush, verdant grass, and the children were _running around_ within the frame, playing tag and flying kites. They could even hear them laughing.

"I would not have thought so," Giles said.

"Magic is so cool," Willow said.

"I'm glad you believe so," said a voice from above them. As one, they turned toward the stairs and saw an old man descending, wearing what looked like an intensely colored house frock. His beard was far longer than Giles thought was strictly necessary, and he wore an actual wizard's hat, with sparkling stars on it . . . and not as if he were just opening a magic shop and wanted to amuse potential customers, either.

The dark haired man, who had greeted them at the gate, followed the old wizard at a respectful two-step distance, but his expression, as he gazed at the motley group at the bottom of the stairs, was anything but respectful. In fact, he was sneering. "The . . . blond," he said tightly to the older gentleman, "has claimed to be a relative of Mr. Malfoy's."

"Thank you, Severus," the old man said. Smiling beatifically at the group, and then bestowing a particularly genial smile on Spike, who merely lifted a bleached eyebrow in return, the man said, "I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster. Welcome to Hogwarts."

Buffy _waved_ at him, like the school girl she had not been for several years. "Hi. So, I was wondering, fashion statement-wise, does everyone here wear dresses?"

Giles cringed, Severus scowled, but the Headmaster merely smiled more widely, the blue of his eyes sparkling as much as his hat. "Many do, yes."

"Hm," said Buffy. "Guess I should have packed my bathrobe."

The Headmaster looked them over again, noting the leather clad Spike, the trench coat-wearing Angel, and Willow's fluffy pink jumper, amongst other fashion horrors. "You may stand out a bit, it is true. But I should not worry unduly. May I ask why you are here? Is it merely a momentous family reunion?"

Spike smirked. "Right. I've been so thoroughly shattered by not seeing my cousin ten or twenty times removed that I had to rush here in the middle of the night."

"I thought as much." The Headmaster gave a patient smile.

"We actually had something important to discuss, Headmaster," Giles said. "Having to do with the rise of Dark Forces."

"And the fight against _evil_!" Buffy helpfully added.

"Ah, good. If you will follow me, then?"

The dark-haired man fumed in place on the stairs, even as the Headmaster turned to go back up them. His dark eyes were like black fire. "Albus! You cannot mean to indulge these _Muggles_," he spat the last word as if it were a curse.

"Now, now, Severus, all is well. I told you I was expecting visitors any day now."

"But surely you don't—"

"As I said, it will be fine. Why don't you return to the dungeons, my boy. I believe you had a potion you were working on?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "Dungeons?" she mouthed, while Willow looked positively giddy at the idea of potions. "Are they serious?"

It seemed they were, as Severus inclined his head stiffly. "Yes, of course, Headmaster." He marched down the stairs, which the party from Sunnydale was just starting to mount. When he brushed by them, he happened to bump into Giles. Some kind of shock went through the Watcher from the contact, starting from the elbow where they had touched, up his arm and into his chest, like an electrical charge. Before he could say anything, however, the man was at the base of the stairs and winging his way around the corner, black cloak billowing out behind him, without so much as 'beg your pardon.'

"Please do not mind Severus," the Headmaster told them, when they reached him on the stairs, as if he had read Giles' mind. "He does not adapt well to change."

Buffy glanced at Angel, who was oftimes notoriously staid, with a quirk of her lips. "I have no idea what you mean," she said.

The Headmaster chuckled, then led them up several flights of stairs, some of which moved, swinging out dangerously over empty space dozens of feet high, and some of which might as well have, for all the creaking and groaning they were doing. A few minutes later, they found themselves in front of a pair of gargoyles. The Headmaster murmured something to one of them, and when it moved, Buffy had a knife in hand faster than you could say, "kill the monster."

"That will not be necessary, Miss Summers," Dumbledore said. "They are not the evil which resides here."

Buffy nodded, though her eyes had narrowed with suspicion at the Headmaster's words. No one had given their names as yet. Giles was glad, and not for the first time, that she was not quite as air-headed as she pretended. "It's that Severus guy, isn't it? I got an evil vibe from him, all the way."

The Headmaster chuckled again, even as the gargoyles parted, revealing a secret door and a winding staircase. "No, it is not Professor Snape. Although, I imagine his reputation would have it otherwise." Dumbledore went past the gargoyles and stood on the bottom step, then climbed several more before he gestured to the group to join him. "Please, come up to my office. We'll have tea. And a chat."

Buffy followed, but did not put the knife away. Giles was certain she was breaking some sort of wizardly protocol, but he was just as glad she was prepared to defend herself if need be. The rest of them followed her lead, though Spike and Angel jostled for the place just behind her on the stairs.

Giles rolled his eyes, but the Headmaster seemed to take it in stride. Of course, he must be used to dealing with hormonal teenagers with "super powers." Still, Giles rather doubted the man – or anyone! – would deal as well with the antics of two hormonal several-centuries-old Vampires as Giles had done for the last decade. He had not killed either of them yet, had he?

Once everyone was aboard, the stairs started to turn in a slow corkscrew fashion, and Willow looked around, excitedly. "It's more magic, isn't it?"

"Will," Buffy said with an indulgent smile, "you could move staircases in your sleep."

"Well, yes," the witch admitted. "But it's just fun, don't you think? And the gargoyles were cute."

"Cute," Giles said with a sigh, as they reached the top and Dumbledore leapt nimbly from the stairs and waited while they all did the same. "Naturally."

A large oaken door loomed before them, and Dumbledore pushed it open and strode through. "Please, take a seat," he offered and went to sit behind a desk, a large, cluttered affair with myriad moving, hissing and glowing things upon it. Then he picked up a bowl of boiled sweets. "Anyone for a lemon drop?"

Buffy reached forward and grabbed a couple, popped one in her mouth before anyone could stop her. "Gi-iles," she whined, "How come _you_ never give me candy?"

"Because you don't deserve it," he sighed, and reached for his glasses again. The bridge of his nose wanted pinching.

"Sherbet lemons?" the Headmaster tried again.

"Ooh, me!" Spike said, and held out his hand like a schoolboy, then put the treat in his mouth, grinning madly. "I've not had a sherbet in an age." Suddenly realizing everyone was staring at him, he growled, "What? A bloke can't enjoy a sweet? Bunch of killjoys, that's what you are."

Everyone found seats, and Buffy – squeezed between Angel and Spike on a settee built for two at most – said, "Speaking of killing . . ."

"Yes?" Dumbledore said.

"Well . . ." Shockingly, Buffy looked at Giles, as if expecting him to explain their visit.

Never one to pass up such an opportunity, Giles – in an overstuffed wingback chair by a happily roaring fire – nodded and said, "I don't know how much you know about the concepts of which I am about to speak, so I hope you'll pardon me if some of this is superfluous."

"Of course, Mister Giles. Pray, continue."

Discomfited by the familiarity Dumbledore had with their group, Giles nevertheless went on, "Buffy here is senior amongst a . . ."

"Horde?" asked Buffy.

"Passel?" suggested Willow.

"Throng?"

"That just sounds lewd," Willow admonished.

Spike grinned.

"Buffy is senior amongst a _number_ of Vampire Slayers," Giles said forcefully. "She used to be the only one in her generation, but . . . times change."

Buffy put the back of her hand to her forehead and mock-swooned. "The things you say, Giles."

"Yes, well," Giles continued. "In addition to slaying Vampires, she has also been known to fight demons of various kinds—"

"Master- and uber-vamps."

"Goddesses."

"Rogue Slayers."

"Knights who don't say 'Nee.'"

"And minions of the First Evil," Giles added with a glower. Surely they could let him list her accomplishments without interrupting? "In addition to Buffy's considerable skill, Willow is a very powerful witch who was responsible for creating that . . . passel of other Slayers." Willow grinned at him, but ducked her head modestly at the same time. "For myself, I have a smattering of magical ability, and both Angel and Spike are . . . skilled warriors in their own right."

"And Vampires," the Headmaster said.

"Yes," Giles admitted, even as said Vampires – and Buffy – tensed. "But they each have a soul," he forced himself to add.

"I got mine first."

"I got mine _voluntarily_," Spike countered.

"I see," said the Headmaster, giving each of them an appraising look over his half-moon spectacles before turning his attention back to Giles. "And you believe something evil is lurking here, at Hogwarts?"

"Not exactly," Giles admitted, though the Headmaster himself had said there was _something_ residing here pf the sort. "But I believe there is a nexus of Dark Magic in this area, and a self-styled Dark Lord who seems to be wreaking all manner of havoc in your world." He gestured to Willow and himself. "We recently came across a book entitled, _Hogwarts: A History_, written by a onetime acquaintance of mine, and I thought perhaps we would offer our services in your fight."

"You do seem to have the qualifications for the vanquishing of evil," the Headmaster said. He lifted his wand, said a few soft words, and a wisp of silvery vapor shot out of the length of wood, coalesced into the shape of a bird of some kind, and flew out the door . . . or rather, through the door.

"I've just sent a message to one of my students," he explained. "Harry has spent the better part of seven years fighting that rising dark magic, and its adherents, specifically Voldemort, the Dark Lord you spoke of."

"A student? I don't know if that's a good idea," Buffy protested.

Dumbledore gave her a knowing look. "How old were you when you . . . slew your first Vampire?"

"Fifteen," Buffy answered.

"Harry was eleven when he took on his first monster. If you don't count the incident when he was just a baby."

"Sweet kid," Spike said with a grimace.

"Actually, he is," Dumbledore said, and his smile this time could be considered fond. "Despite having to face Voldemort almost every year of his schooling."

"So, he's never actually . . . slain this Dark Lord?" Buffy said with a smirk.

"The process has been rather more difficult than we had hoped," Dumbledore admitted. "As Voldemort has split his soul into more than a half dozen parts, and keeps coming back from the dead. Often through the aid of his minions."

"Like the Master."

"Or the First."

"Do his minions have eyes, or are they all ex-ed outty?" Buffy asked.

The Headmaster frowned. "They have eyes, yes. But they wear skull-like masks and refer to themselves as Death Eaters."

"Charming."

"Just so," Dumbledore said, and then, "Ah, here's Harry now. Come in, dear boy," he called to the door.

It opened, revealing a rather short and skinny teen with messy hair and vibrant green eyes. A set of large-frame glasses was perched on the end of his nose, and he wore robes – obviously school issue – over uniform trousers, shirt and tie, and a pair of ragged looking trainers. He appeared closer to fourteen years old than eighteen, but there was a world-weariness in his eyes that bespoke far more years even than that. Giles had seen that look in Buffy's eyes a number of times, and wondered – not for the first time – at the Fates that could put the weight of so much responsibility on the shoulders of children.

"You called for me, Professor?" the young man said, and glanced around curiously at the visitors.

"Yes, Harry, thank you for—" the Headmaster started, but was interrupted by a scuffle from the settee that had previously contained two Vampires and a Slayer, and now contained only one of each. The second Vampire was on his feet, his whole body coiled with the tension of a predator on the hunt.

"Madre de Dioshh," Spike said, slurring his words as his face went all 'bumpy,' as Buffy called it. He prowled close to the newly arrived young man, and when he was nearly in touching range, drew in a deep, deep breath from the vicinity of the lad's neck. "I've never shhmelled anything sho . . . delishioushh."

"Mister Spike?" said Dumbledore.

"What the hell?" said Buffy.

"For crying out loud," sighed Angel.

"Er, hang on," said Harry, and then "Eeep!" when Spike dove in for another hearty sniff.

Giles hid his face in his hands.

**TBC . . . **

---

**Author's Note:** Okay, sorry it's been so long since I posted, but as I mentioned previously, updates'll be far more sporadic here than with my other stories, and really, mostly just when the angst of those is getting me down.

I'd like to thank everyone who has shown an interest in this story; It's fun to write it, and I'm **super stoked** that people likey. Though, I'm kinda startled at the number of people reading IEYSwYB who admit they've never seen (or rarely seen) BtVS, 'cause, well, you won't even get the title . . . though I admit it's sort of a giveaway of the tone of the piece even without context. But, hey, whatever floats your cheese. :-D

Um, obviously, in this chapter there's hints of various pairings to come. See if you can figure out who. Er, I mentioned the story was slash, didn't I? My first ever time writing it, too . . . Wish me luck! Next chapter will not be from Giles' perspective. Someone else's turn, don't you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom -- Chapter Three**

**By jharad17**

**Disclaimer:** Are you kidding me?

**Warning:** We've got the first hint of the reason for the M rating, here in this chapter. Reminder: this story is slash.

* * *

**Previously, on **_**It Eats You, Starting with Your Bottom:**_

"_I've never shhmelled anything sho . . . delishioushh."_

"_Mister Spike?" said Dumbledore._

"_What the hell?" said Buffy._

"_For crying out loud," sighed Angel._

"_Er, hang on," said Harry, and then, "Eeep!" when Spike dove in for another hearty sniff._

_Giles hid his face in his hands._

Ignoring the suddenly tight sensation in his stomach and points lower, Harry snarled at the vampire currently snuffling at his neck and hair. In a smooth motion borne of too many hours of physical training to count, he grabbed the man's forearm, twisted it firmly and spun the vamp around. He pressed his own chest to the man's back and casually put his mouth a hairsbreadth from the vamp's ear. In a whisper, he threatened, "Don't touch me like that again."

The vampire actually shivered. "Then can I--"

"And not in any other way either." Harry shut his eyes and ignored -- _again_ -- the frisson of desire that made him want to run his hands over the hard, smooth chest of the vamp pressed against him. Instead, he firmly pushed the man away.

"Headmaster." Harry licked his lips and glanced at the platinum blond involuntarily. "What did you call me here for?" He hoped Dumbledore understood that he was not appreciative of the near mauling of his person. Well, not in any way except purely anatomically, of course. And certain elements of his anatomy would not listen to reason in any case. It had been long time since he had even been kissed, never mind . . .

"These fine people have come all the way from the United States," Dumbledore said, interrupting Harry's thoughts before he could tumble the nice vampire.

"Really?" Strange. By their accents, he would have thought they were from closer to home. "But it sounded like--"

"I wassh born in London," said the man who had accosted him. Then he seemed to realize that his fangs were impeding his speech, and the bumps on his face vanished, leaving him far more pleasant to look at . . . though Harry did not notice that, not at all.

"And I in Dublin," said a tall, broody type sitting on a settee next to a pretty blond woman. Harry frowned at the man's almost total lack of accent, till he added, "A long, long time ago."

"Oooh!" the blond girl said playfully. "Finally admitting your supreme, excruciating oldness?" The Dubliner shook his head at her, though fondly, and the girl grinned back. She seemed awfully perky, but then, she _was_ sucking on one of Dumbledore's sweets. "Are we playing the Introduce Ourselves game now? I'm Buffy, and I'm a Slayer." She grinned again. "Your turn."

"Er . . . Slayer?" Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose. The vampire who had been sniffing him had moved a couple feet away, but Harry wanted to keep an eye on his arse anyway. Er, not his arse! On _all of him_, because he was obviously dangerous!

With a quirked smile at another man, this one with glasses and sitting directly in front of Dumbledore's desk, she said, "Neat! Even the magicky people here don't know about Slayers. I could like this place, Giles."

"Just tell him, for goodness sakes," Giles said wearily. "And try not to take all night."

Buffy immediately sobered, cleared her throat and put a hand to her chest as if taking an oath. In a low, lecturing tone, reminiscent of prophecy making, she said, "Into every generation, a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will have the strength and skills to hunt the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."

Harry's eyes opened wide, and a jolt of excitement went through him. He almost laughed, but recognized the impulse as rather hysterical and caught it just in time. _She_ was the Chosen One? Then maybe _she_ could face Voldemort! He could have a life! A life of his very, very own.

Buffy went on, however, before he could volunteer to show her to Old Snakeface -- tonight, if possible. "But then, one day, a Super Witch came along and clogged up the streamlining that'd been in effect for what, a billion generations? By activating more Slayers than you can shake a stake at, and thus giving this old girl a break from all the excitement." She grinned at the redhead sitting next to Giles. "Thanks, Will."

Harry was confused again. So, now there were a thousand Slayers? Cool! A thousand of them against one of Voldemort sounded like just the right odds.

Before he could ask, the redhead gave Harry a friendly smile and a tiny wave. "Hi, I'm Willow. Friendly neighborhood witch."

"Really?" Harry winced. He really needed to stop saying that, as if he doubted every word coming out of their mouths. "I mean, hi. I'm Harry. But, er, you probably know that." God, could he get any more lame? "I mean . . . Erm. Did you go to the Salem Witches Institute?" he asked, as it was the only such establishment he knew of in the States.

She shook her head. "No, we're from Sunnydale, in California. About as far from Massachusetts as you can get."

"Sunnydale?"

Willow grinned. "Yep."

"Where there are demons."

She nodded, her hazel eyes gleaming with mirth. "Bunches."

"And vampires. In _Sunny_dale."

"Irony is good for the blood."

Harry snickered. "Uh huh."

"It's not terribly sunny, actually," Willow continued. "Disposition-wise, at least. What with the Hellmouth and all."

Buffy nodded, after popping another sweet in her mouth. Harry was going to have to warn her off of those. "And home to -- once a year, on average, usually at the end of the school year -- some kind of apocalypse."

"Lots of apocalypses," Willow agreed. "Or is that apocalli?"

"Apocalyptions?"

"Apocalyptrixes?"

"Oh! Apollo syllabuses?"

"Children!" the man called Giles interrupted them with a growl that would have done Snape proud. "Honestly, could we continue here?" He turned to Harry and pushed his wire-framed glasses up on his nose. Harry smiled at the familiar action and accent. Seemed Giles was from closer to home, too. Was that Oxford? The man inclined his head. "I am Rupert Giles. I am -- or was, rather -- a Watcher." Harry wondered what -- or who -- he watched. "This is Angel," he said, gesturing to the man on the settee with Buffy, and who blinked at him. "And you've, um, well, you've met Spike."

His blond assailant. Spike, huh? An odd name for a vampire. Harry would have thought a vampire would avoid anything to do with sharp, pointy things, even with regard to his name. Harry resolutely did not look at said vampire. "So then . . . er . . . what are you here for?"

"Let me explain," said Spike.

"No!" Harry formed a cross from the index fingers of both hands and held them up, though he had no idea if a flesh cross would work. And no idea if he really wanted it to, or if he'd rather run his fingers through the vampire's hair . . . and where had _that_ thought come from? "Stay away from me."

"Harry, please . . ." Spike appeared wounded by Harry's actions, but not as if he was on fire or anything. Then he shook his head and looked away. "Sorry, Harry. Honest, I'm sorry."

Harry startled slightly. It was fairly rare for _anyone_ to apologize to him, even now, when he was under so much pressure to get rid of Voldemort. Perhaps _especially_ now. "Don't," he whispered, unsure of whether he meant 'don't talk to me,' or 'don't apologize,' or maybe 'don't turn away.'

Spike's gaze came back up to meet his, but his eyes were narrowed, as if he knew just what Harry was thinking. Harry flushed, and hunched his shoulders. Spike drew a deep breath -- did vampires even need to breathe? -- and backed off a bit more.

Giles pulled off his glasses and rubbed his fingertips over his forehead as if smoothing away a headache. Harry could understand the sentiment. "We've invaded your school because of the existence of a Hellmouth in the vicinity."

"Hellmouth," Harry said, and looked at Willow. "You said that before. What is it?"

"Oooh!" Buffy interrupted, just as Willow was going to answer. "Apocalyptoids!"

The chirping of crickets was almost too loud to bear, as everyone stared at the young woman. Even Dumbledore took a break from lemon sherbet slurping to gawk.

"Sorry," Buffy waved a hand regally. "Go on. Hellmouths . . ."

"Yeah," Willow said slowly then started to pick up speed. "Hellmouths are places of increased supernatural activity, where the barriers between dimensions are often weak. There's usually a focal point, which serves as a portal between earth and at least one hell dimension, so every Hellmouth will attract demons and other supernaturals."

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. Weird stuff happens around it. A Hellmouth can spew out demons and uber vamps and such, or people who live near it can be drawn to acts of evil." She paused, expectantly, but when no one said anything, she elbowed the brunet beside her -- Angel -- in the ribs. "You missed your cue."

"I don't spout meaningless phrases on command," he snapped.

"Coulda fooled me," said Spike. "Mr. 'I can't sport a happy or I'll lose my soul.'"

"I can _sport_ a happy all I . . ." Angel broke off and glowered, almost as impressively as Snape could have done. "Oh, for crying out loud. You're such a child."

Spike grinned, unrepentant, making Angel growl. "_Your_ childe. Grandpa."

"Be nice," Harry told him, even as he processed what that meant -- that Angel was a vampire too!

Spike shot him a surprised look, which smoothed out as he lifted a pale eyebrow, in a way so reminiscent of Malfoy that Harry caught his breath. "If you plan to chastise me in public, love," the vampire said in a low, sexy voice, and though they were surrounded, Harry knew somehow that the words reached his ears alone, "you best be prepared to be a bit closer in private."

Something warm and catlike curled low inside him, and Harry smiled faintly. "Forward much?"

"Always, love."

The man's completely unapologetic . . . flirting caught Harry off guard again. And he found, in that moment, that he liked it. He pursed his lips, determined to get through this briefing if it killed him. "Tell me more about _this_ Hellmouth." He frowned. "And the evil."

"Dun dun duh," Spike murmured.

Buffy bounced in her seat, apparently pleased. "Well, you've got some sort of demon--"

"No," Dumbledore interrupted for the first time. "He is human. Or was."

"Like a Vengeance Demon?" Angel asked.

Harry gave him a questioning look. Spike, in that precise moment, noticed Harry paying attention to the other vampire and moved closer . . . rather obtrusively. Harry mouthed, 'Jealous much?' to the blond, even as Giles started to explain. But Spike just smiled, showing teeth.

"There are humans who, for one reason or another, become both more and less human. Vampires, for instance," he continued, with a half-hearted glare at the two examples of such in the Headmaster's office. "Weres. And some demon forms that are at least partially voluntary."

"Voluntary demons?" Harry asked.

"As opposed to involuntary," Buffy supplied helpfully. But it wasn't very helpful.

"And you think Voldemort is one of these? A voluntary demon?"

"Is that what you call him? We've only seen it written as 'He Who Shall Not Be Named.'"

Harry frowned at him, but Giles had not flinched at the sound of the name, and seemed only curious now.

"There are many in our world who fear what they do not understand," said the Headmaster. "And they do not name what they fear, because they believe it gives the object of their fear more substance."

"But the opposite is true," Giles started, and the Headmaster nodded.

"Of course it is. Even among wizards, however, there are those who are misguided or misinformed."

Giles nodded. "Regardless, we're fairly certain that your Voldemort is responsible for opening, or holding open, a Hellmouth. It's somewhat south of here, in a town called Little Hangleton."

Harry stiffened . . . and not in a good 'there's a vampire I'd like to spend a little quality time with' kind of way. "That makes sense," he said quietly. "Unfortunately."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. That's where he -- Voldemort -- was brought back from the almost dead a few years ago. With a ritual."

Willow sat forward, a slight frown marring her face. "He used bones?"

"Of his father, yeah."

"A sacrifice?"

"Yeah. Of his servant's hand."

"And blood, too, right?"

Harry nodded, throat tight. "Right," he said, and did not offer the identity of the person whose blood had been used. His right hand, however, went instinctively to cover the long scar in the crook of his left arm. He frowned at Willow. "So . . . have you resurrected a Dark Lord recently?"

Willow bit her lip, eyes cast down, then she sighed and shook her head. "I've been foolish, though, in the past," she admitted. She glanced at Buffy, who gazed back her and nodded after a moment. "But then, sometimes it's been worth it."

Harry stared, putting two and two together and coming up with the resurrection of a Slayer. Dark magic, for sure, but what about her activation of a thousand Slayers, to fight evil? Did that balance the scale? Overwhelmed, he could only babble. "You . . . she . . . ?"

Giles huffed out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Willow has more power than is strictly--"

"Average?" suggested Buffy.

"Safe?" asked Angel.

"Legal?" offered Spike.

"Good for me," said Willow, still looking chagrined. "I know."

Buffy rose from her seat and went over to the redhead. She flicked Willow on the side of the head with her index finger, bringing Willow's attention away from her trainers. "Don't get all worry warty, Will. You can control it now." She smiled. "Besides. I'm glad to be back. You know, _now_. Just took a while to get used to."

Willow gazed up at Buffy, and it was obvious from the regard that flowed between them that they had been friends a very long time, and would be, probably forever. He wished, sometimes, that he could be that close to anyone, without worrying that they would be a target, or worse, a hostage to his behavior. He cared for Hermione and Ron a great deal, but he could never let them get that close.

A little embarrassed by their display of open affection, Harry shifted his weight from leg to leg and stared at the carpeted floor. When he felt a hand on his arm, he jumped, though not as much as he might have only an hour ago. The hand was cool against his skin, but not as cold as Harry would have expected, for someone who was undead. Then a thumb traced gently over one of his Quidditch scars. The kind attention was nearly Harry's undoing, not used to being treated like that. His throat felt tight, and he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere with Spike . . .

What was happening to him? Was he in thrall or something? He glanced up at Spike through his fringe, wondering what in the world was going on ad why he felt this way.

"Later, for you," Spike whispered with a little smile. "I promise." Louder, he said, "It's late. We can continue this in the morning, right? After a decent breakfast, packed with essential vitamins and minerals."

"Quite right," said Giles. He glanced around at his comrades, who were still damp from the light Scottish rain, and all looked fairly shattered.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Let me have someone show you to your rooms. You'll be on the fourth floor, in the guest rooms nearest the library."

"Oooh, a library, Giles!" Buffy actually _cooed_. "You'll be right at home."

"Hush, you insolent child."

Rather than be put off by Giles' dismissal, Buffy beamed at him, and Harry shook his head, confused by their relationship.

"Don't worry on it, love," Spike murmured, then winked at him. "They've been like that forever."

"Thank you," said Giles to the Headmaster as he stood. "We appreciate your hospitality."

"And we'd really appreciate some spicy buffalo wings and a pitcher of margaritas," Spike grumbled under his breath.

Harry came dangerously close to snorting again.

"You are most welcome." Dumbledore then smiled benevolently at Harry. "Thank you for joining us, dear boy. You may return to your dorm, unless you have any questions that cannot wait?"

"No . . ." Against his will, Harry's gaze once more went to the blond vampire, who had just removed his steadying hand from Harry's arm. He missed that sense of connectedness already. But there was no way in hell he was going to say so.

Spike smirked anyway. "You sure, love? No questions?"

"No!" He bit his lip. "Nothing."

"Of course not." The vampire's smile deepened. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"I . . ." Harry darted a look at the Headmaster, who smiled back over the half-moon frames of his glasses.

"Good night, Harry."

"G'night, sir." He hesitated at the door. "Er, it was nice to meet you all." He made a hasty escape after that, and when he reached his dormitory, he closed his bed curtains and secured them tightly. But he could not fall asleep till he'd 'worked off some stress,' after making sure to put up a silencing charm. Wouldn't do for Ron to hear him come, moaning, "Spike . . . Oh, _yeah_! Spike . . ."

Nope. Wouldn't do at all.

**TBC . . . **

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Author's Note:

Thank you readers and reviewers! You guys are made of awesomesauce! 


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